


Mad Gamer Chick Fallout: Daznik's Journey

by Zoop (zoop526)



Series: The Pwn Heard Round the World of Warcraft [3]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Interracial Relationship, Racism, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoop526/pseuds/Zoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spin-off from "Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick." Roznik's twin brother, Daznik, had a brief but awkward exchange with Karie before heading up to Moonglade for advanced Druid training. He learns the hard way that tourists never have a good time in a war zone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Troll With the Bright Pink Hair

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm playing 'catch-up' on the side stories for Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick. First up is Roznik's twin brother, Daznik. Little bit of license here: in the game, we get a nifty little portal spell to whisk us up to Moonglade. I decided that was stupid. Daznik's gotta go on foot. Let's see what trouble he stirs up on his way through contested territories.

"Whut duh fuck?" Daznik muttered incredulously as he read through the letter from his mother. He leaned an elbow on the top of the mailbox outside the Crossroads inn to steady himself, for both hands were required to hold the note still in the hot, dry wind of the Northern Barrens.

It wasn't a long note; Jozala wasn't one for lengthy missives.

_Roznik's lady, Karie, confronted your father. Things were said that have needed to be said for many years. He's come around; we can say her name now. We can honor your sister's memory. Say her name. Say it often. Suliya._

_Much love, Jozala_

A lump formed in the Troll's throat as he reread the letter.

"Suliya," he whispered, closing his eyes and savoring the name on his lips. His chin quivered slightly, remembering her smiling face. " _Suliya_ ," he repeated more confidently. Reading the letter again, he smiled...

* * *

_"How can yuh stand it, mon?" Suliya asked incredulously. Daznik shrugged. His thoughts were on the task at hand: braiding his big sister's hair. He'd carved several bone charms and was carefully weaving them into her hair so they'd clink together when she moved._

_"Don' t'ink 'bout it," Daz replied. "He do his t'ing, ah do mine. We twins, not copies."_

_"Hmph," his sister snorted. "Two mo' diff'rent boys. Yuh come outta duh same womb. Ought'a be closer. Roz folluh da, an' you folluh mata. How dat happen den?"_

_"We ain' **dat** diff'ren'," he replied defensively._

_"Look at dis, den," she said, holding up a handful of the bone charms and showing them to him. "He **killed** fuh dese. Ah ain' seen yuh kill a mouse, Daz. Yuh jus' don' do it. But yuh take what he kill and yuh use it. Don' dat bodduh yuh?"_

_Again, Daznik shrugged. "He wan' da's respec'. T'ink it'll mean he uh mon."_

_She glanced over her shoulder and frowned. "Whut dat gotta do wit' dese bones?"_

_"Roz make duh kills wit' honor," Daz patiently explained. "Whut he kill feed duh Darkspear. Duh leather protect our warriors. Duh sinew string duh bows. Parts be used by duh Darkspear; dey don' go tuh waste. He don' kill foh fun. Dese bones," he added, holding up a charm he'd carved in the shape of a totem just for her, "carry duh strength of duh beast whut give it. Da teach'im tuh honor duh kill, so he honor it. Ah do me own honorin'."_

_Suliya shook her head. "So he wan' da's respect. Whut do Daz wan'? Cause da don' t'ink of yuh duh same way."_

_A slow smile curved his mouth. "Ah wan' all duh wimmin tuh love meh."_

_"Yuh on duh right path for dat," she laughed, elbowing his ribs._

* * *

Daznik was glad he recalled his sister smiling and laughing; there were far worse memories that could have come to him. He didn't want to remember her and only see how she was when he and Roznik found her. The memory was painful and filled him with a rare fury he never indulged, and _couldn't_ because of who Zuti was. It was an added insult that their own father refused to do _anything_ about it; not confront the assailants, not beg justice of Vol'jin... Not even accept that she'd been wronged. It took Daznik years not to see her dangling from the rope every time he closed his eyes.

There was no hate in Daznik for anyone or anything, but his anger with his da came terrifyingly close.

Now it seemed that an outside voice had come along and defied the five year long prohibition against speaking her name. Daznik's one encounter with Karie wasn't lengthy, and left him with a very strange impression of her – certainly not one that supported _this_ revelation – but now he needed to know more.

Pulling a parchment and quill from his pack, he hastily scrawled a note to his mata, begging more information.

Another letter he'd received was dated earlier, and came from Roznik. They'd had a long chat the night before Daznik left on his journey, about three days ago now, and he'd gotten the feeling that his twin was harboring some soft feelings for Karie. Daz eagerly broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

The contents made him raise an eyebrow.

_Daz,_

_Something's happened, and I don't want you getting mad at me for it. I think I've fallen for that human, Karie. You met her just before you left. I don't know how it happened; we've been at each other's throats for days, then I caught her with Zuti and got so fucking mad... No woman's ever made me feel this way. I swear I haven't turned traitor to the Horde. I'm not going to betray our people for her. But I feel like I've betrayed her. I couldn't look her in the face after seeing her with that son of a bitch. I came home. I didn't know what else to do, and now I'm worried to death. What if Zuti goes after her? I'll never forgive myself if she gets hurt, but I just can't see her. She cut me deep, Daz. What should I do?_

_Roz_

This was more serious than he thought. Heading back into the inn, Daznik hunkered down on a bunk and pulled another parchment from his pack. Dipping the quill in the ink, he scratched out a reply to Roznik.

_Roz,_

_Just got a note from mata about Karie; what's happening now? Your last said you'd left her alone with Zuti on the prowl. Now she's been to our house and met our parents. I hope that means she's okay._

_Don't worry about the rest of it. A man's heart doesn't care what his head has to say; it goes where it wants to go. If you love Karie and don't do anything about it, **then** you'll be betraying **yourself** , and that's all that matters in this. The Horde won't fall apart just because you love a human._

_I won't be back for Brewfest, so you'll have to get the Kingsblood yourself this year. Maybe you should take Karie with you? Get her away from the Isles and out from under the Warchief's nose for a while. Spend some time together without distractions, you know?_

_I'll be saying Suliya whenever I get the chance._

_Daz_

A playful grin on his face, Daznik decorated the letter with a border made up of Suliya's name, repeated in intricate patterns and fancy loops. Here and there he drew the sunny heads of peacebloom flowers, her favorites. Nodding with satisfaction, he sealed the note and took it to the mailbox. Standing straight and rolling his shoulders back, he looked northward up the Gold Road. He'd be heading out in the morning, his few tasks in this area finished. The summons to Moonglade had given him a suggested route and the names of Cenarion Circle members he should contact along the way. Daznik was determined to speak with each one; he'd already checked Tonga Runetotem off the list.

The journey to Moonglade was a test of not only the trainees' abilities, but their immersion in Druidic ways. They were not to use portals or flight paths; the trip was to be made on foot. Coordination and collaboration among fellow trainees making the journey at the same time was encouraged, but Daznik spent too much time healing gazelles for Runetotem and fell behind his fellows from the Isles.

No matter. Daznik was in no hurry. There was so much of the world he hadn't seen yet, and a long list of Druids to visit. He wanted to savor every step.

The endless wind of the Barrens ruffled his many thick braids, interwoven with metal rings and bone carvings. The trinkets bounced against one another in the wind and when he walked, making a soft tinkling sound like wind chimes. His hair stood out like a beacon, for he'd dyed it a bright pink. When the trainees on the Echo Isles figured out that a Druid's hair color determined the coloration of their animal forms, several of them snuck off the island in the middle of the night and made the trip to Orgrimmar to get their hair dyed. Daznik went through several different colors until he was satisfied with how his cat form looked. Bright pink might make him look like an exceptionally tall, and blue, gnome, but he rather liked shapeshifting into a white cat with purple stripes.

Scratching the back of his sunburned neck, Daznik headed for the merchants' stalls to stock up. It was almost a day's run to Mor'Shan Ramparts, assuming he didn't stop _too_ many times.

"Takin' off, mon?" the Troll tradesman, Tari'qa asked as Daznik selected a set of vials and additional pouches.

"Yah," Daz acknowledged with a distracted nod. He was running low on parchment; far more than his brother, he was a letter-writer. He hated being caught in the vicinity of a mailbox without the supplies to send a note to _someone_. "Got any jerky?"

The tradesman grimaced. "Nah, mon, yuh don' wan' mah jerky. Comes off'uh duh tallstriders. Dey's gamey as fuck. Yuh wanna get yuhself meat off'uh dem lions." Glancing around, he leaned in close and whispered, "Go ask dat Orc whut does duh butcherin'. Zargh. He got some, and can probly tell yuh how tuh make it."

"Yuh tellin' ev'rybody 'bout dat?" Daznik grinned.

Shrugging and grinning, the tradesman replied, "Nah, mon. Jus' duh Trolls. It be funny watchin' dem Blood Elves chewin' on a strip'uh jerky foh a half hour. Most'uh duh time, dey don' give duh Orcs credit foh duh cookin'." He shook his head. "Stupid, dat. Duh butcher be a mastuh. If he cooked dirt, yuh'd wanna eat it."

"Ah'll check wit' him on mah way out," Daznik chuckled.

* * *

Daznik's sleek purple-striped form galloped north on the Gold Road. There was no need for stealth, to his way of thinking. The Northern Barrens were Horde-controlled; he wouldn't have to be careful until he reached Ashenvale.

Though the sun was hot, a steady breeze blew, cooled somewhat from the oases dotted about. Daznik only paused occasionally to carefully harvest leaves and flowers from the briarthorn and mageroyal along the way. His herb bags were beginning to fill; he'd have to use those plants soon or risk bruising them in a cramped bag.

He was within sight of the encroaching trees shielding the Ramparts from view when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He'd shifted from cat form like he always did to gather plants; it required a steady hand with a knife and couldn't be done with unwieldy paws. Hunkered down over some earthroot at the foot of Dreadmist Peak, he got the strong feeling that he was being watched. Daznik frowned, but only paused in his work for a moment. Whoever – or _whatever_ – was watching him hadn't attacked. He was still in Horde territory, minutes away from a Horde outpost.

Shaking his head sharply, he sighed. There had been a veiled warning in the note from Arch Druid Hamuul Runetotem about the possibility of attack from Alliance Druids as he made the journey. It was unfortunate, but a risk not to be dismissed. If he was being tracked by a fellow Druid, he could only hope they didn't mean him harm. If they did... well, he'd have to deal with it then, wouldn't he?

Carefully packing the bits he'd taken, and making sure the plant wasn't so damaged it couldn't recover, Daznik shifted once more to cat form and continued on to Mor'shan Ramparts.

He didn't stay there long; the commander, Kadrak, approached the Troll as he was conversing with the Tauren in charge of healing.

"You headed in there?" he growled.

"Yah, mon," Daznik nodded. "Goin' tuh Moonglade foh trainin'."

"Druid, eh?" Kadrak said thoughtfully. "Listen, it isn't out of your way. Can you get this to Silverwind? It's a little something... special for Flooz. You'll find him..."

"Yah," Daznik interrupted, his expression souring. "Ah know'im."

The Orc met Daznik's gaze steadily. "You just see he gets it."

"Ah'll see to it," the Troll replied stiffly, jamming the package into his pack. Kadrak stiffened.

"You might want to be careful with that," he advised. "Don't jostle it too much."

Narrowing his eyes, Daznik growled, "Ain' goin' t'rough duh mail foh a reason, eh?"

Kadrak nodded. "Right. A really _good_ reason. So you be careful, understand?"

"Yah, mon," Daznik muttered. "Ah be... careful."

The Orc nodded sharply and turned his attention to some scouts bringing him their report. Daznik closed his eyes for a moment and quietly seethed. He'd been through Ashenvale before. He wasn't looking forward to revisiting the Goblins at Silverwind Refuge.

Telling himself it was for the Horde, and Garrosh wouldn't condone any repetitions of the dishonorable act that happened in Stonetalon Mountains, he swallowed his anger and resolved to do his duty. Shifting once more to cat form, he crossed the border into Ashenvale, stealthing as he left the relative protection of the Ramparts.

Another pair of cat's eyes watched his every move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick:
> 
> Introducing Daznik, twin to Roznik – slightly freaked out by Karie in chapter 24  
> The Fate of Suliya – revealed in chapter 33  
> Daznik's involvement in the Stonetalon bombing – mentioned in chapter 53


	2. The Night Elf Watches

Minara seethed. The tediousness of traveling from Feralas on the southwestern coast of Kalimdor all the way to the far northern reaches of Moonglade was made that much more unbearable when she sighted the Troll galloping out of the Crossroads less than fifty yards ahead of her.

At first, she blanched. Those bloodthirsty barbarians had somehow infiltrated the Emerald Dream, had seduced the Cenarion Circle into allowing them to take up residence in Moonglade, ingratiated themselves with Malfurion Stormrage somehow... It was quite offensive enough, sharing space with the tainted humans, and appallingly disgusting to accept a herd of _cattle_ among their ranks, but now _these_ foul creatures?

She'd dearly hoped when she was told that _Trolls_ had embraced Druidism, _and been accepted_ , someone was playing a joke on her. The sleek white cat with purple stripes and mane ahead of her proved that hope false.

Her own stealthed cat form, nearly a requirement in the Horde-controlled Northern Barrens, padded swiftly and silently after him. Perhaps the lengthy trip would provide... an opportunity.

* * *

The Druid's path was not Minara's first choice. It wasn't her second, either. She initially followed in her parents' footsteps and embraced the priesthood, giving lip service to Elune while sneering at her 'pure-hearted' counterparts. Also according to her parents' example.

Wielding magic of any kind was her birthright, as far as she was concerned. Even divine magic, and its darker cousin, was attractive to her. When her parents were exposed as false priests unheard by Elune a few years past, Minara chose to quietly withdraw from her order rather than suffer similar public humiliation. She took to referring to herself as a Night Elf, rather than associate with the more accurate name of High Elf.

The entire affair still made her laugh, though. Her parents held their positions for hundreds of years before anyone thought to investigate their ineffectiveness, thought to actually ask whether the goddess even recognized them as devotees. The priestesses, and in particular the head of the order, Tyrande Whisperwind, were such fools.

After the Cataclysm, the Night Elven society finally decided that arcane magic wouldn't present so tempting a morsel that the remaining Highbornes might embrace it once more and seek to undo ten thousand years of reparations. Her parents, direct descendents of the Highbornes in service to the Light of Lights, Queen Azshara herself, forbade Minara from becoming a mage.

 _Our forebears' sins still weigh upon our shoulders_ , her mother told her. _Until the dogs of Whisperwind are rendered blind and forgetful, we must not draw their eyes or noses. Choose another path._

So Minara chose Druidism, the first in her family line to do so. Her father nodded approval; with his daughter ensconced among Stormrage's followers, the glaring looks and whispered accusations might cease. Eyes would point elsewhere. He and his life-mate could go about their business with less scrutiny.

And so could Minara.

Yet she had to proceed carefully on this journey. She'd spent her early training in a state of boredom and annoyance, often using her basic skills to escape the harder lessons and avoid having to truly _work_ at it. Now she'd been unleashed upon a harsh and unforgiving world saturated with filthy beasts, and she'd barely drawn blood in combat. She truly had no idea what it felt like to slay another living being. But staring at the trotting form ahead of her, she was keen to learn.

Had her cat face been more expressive, it would have shown her scowl as she lay on her belly and watched the Troll fiddling with some plant in the dust. She growled under her breath with impatience. Minara was accustomed to the cool forest shade and ocean breezes; the relentless sun and hot winds of the Barrens made her bad temper even worse. And this Troll spent _ages_ digging in the dirt, cutting the plant parts, packing the bits and pieces carefully in his pouches...

She huffed again. This time, she saw his long blue ears flick in her direction, and he paused. Crouching lower in the scrub grass on the other side of the road from him, she held her breath.

He didn't turn around, but he listened. Had he heard her? She knew she only barely passed muster in matters of stealth; she'd never been able to sneak past her _shan'do_ on the occasions where she couldn't get out of her lessons. He was terribly disappointed in her, not that she cared what he thought.

To her relief, he packed up his things and shifted back to his hideously gaudy cat form, then continued on down the road. Minara let out the breath she was holding and lay her head down for a moment. Until she saw him fight, she wasn't certain she would be able to slay him. Her own skills were quite poor in that regard. But he seemed... youngish. Perhaps he was on the same journey as she was? In which case, they were likely evenly matched. If she switched to her bear form, she could more easily take him down by sheer weight, assuming she could get atop him. And he had to sleep sometime.

Emboldened by the thought, she slithered through the grasses, keeping the white and purple cat in her sights.

* * *

It came as a surprise to see the Troll disappear on his way through the barricade on the border of Ashenvale. Forced to travel more slowly to maintain her own stealth field, Minara barely reached the Mor'Shan Ramparts in time to see him accepting a package from the Orc commander and heading out again.

Her muscles were cramping from the tension of holding herself low to the ground and moving somewhere between a fast walk and a trot. She'd not been obliged to remain in this state for long periods before, and had looked forward to reaching the more Alliance-friendly region of Ashenvale so she could relax and travel normally. But if she was going to strike this Troll, she was obliged to remain hidden.

Even as she skirted the monstrous Orcs who manned the Ramparts, a wave of Night Elven defenders attacked. She expected to see the Troll reappear and join in the battle, but there was no sign of him. Frustrated, she hastened past the combatants, her eyes searching for some sign of the Troll.

Unexpectedly, for her attention was elsewhere, a Tauren healer aiming for a downed Orc slammed into Minara and fell sprawling on the ground. The Night Elf was winded, but managed to stay hidden from sight. Glancing back with annoyance, she watched as a defender leaped upon the healer and stabbed her to death. _Serves the stupid cow right_ , she grumbled to herself, and weaved around the fighters to the relative safety of the forest.

Now Minara had a dilemma on her hands. She couldn't find the Troll. A stealthed person was not visible to another stealthed person; she recalled that from some early wiffle-waffle lecture she'd attended in Darnassus. All she could do was carry on her way and hope he revealed himself.

Perhaps while picking flowers, she sneered.

Leaving the road, she slipped through the shadows amid the foliage, barely acknowledging that the forest of Ashenvale was a good deal cooler than the Barrens. At any other time, she might have taken note of the change. There was a Troll to find just now, and she was abysmal at tracking as well. She could only hope that intense concentration might make up for her lack of skill. All her thoughts were focused on finding him.

Yet he refused to reveal himself, and she grew impatient. Should she reveal herself instead? Might that flush him out of hiding? Very likely; Trolls were known for their bloodlust. They were known for other lusts as well. She shuddered with disgust.

No, Minara couldn't afford to be seen by him. She had to assess his skills in battle, then she would know if she could best him. Considering how contentious relations with the Horde were in this forest, she expected she'd see him murdering her people any minute now. She had but to keep her eyes open and wait.

* * *

Daznik breathed a sigh of relief that he'd managed to slip out before the Night Elves attacked. He was not a fighter, and had no wish to spill blood no matter whose it was. Focusing on the task at hand – delivering the goods to Flooz – he sped along the road in silence.

His keen senses directed him off the path and into the underbrush. Rumbling with pleasure, he closed in on the clump of flowers whose pungent scent caught his attention. He almost dropped his stealth and shifted forms without thinking.

Tensing warily, he paused to look around. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming himself. He scratched at the dirt as though to waken it.

_*** Footsteps ***_

He could feel the soft vibration of feet on the ground not far away. Closing his eyes, he lay down, stretching his feline body out and loosening his muscles. It was a trick his mata taught him years ago that he'd found even more effective when he was able to do it as a cat. He breathed deeply the scents of the forest and listened.

A slight smile twitched his whiskers.

Whoever had stalked him in the Barrens was shadowing him here as well. And doing a very poor job of it. His ears flicked automatically in the direction of a muffled hiss, and he stifled a grunting chuckle. The other Druid's paws seemed to find every dry twig, every loose stone, and every small, easily frightened animal. The startled squeak and angry chittering of a squirrel reached his ears, and he had a hard time not giving himself away with laughter.

He supposed he could do without the kingsblood and returned to the road. Who knew what sort of Druid was following him? It was best not to force a confrontation out in the middle of nowhere.

* * *

Temper rising nearly beyond her ability to contain it, Minara swiped a paw at the furious squirrel and sent it scampering into the brush. She growled under her breath, certain that if the Troll – or anyone else, for that matter – were within a mile, he must surely have heard that cursed vermin's tirade. Now he'd be wary, and taking him off-guard would be more difficult.

She was just debating how she might force his hand when her distracted wandering brought her to a clearing where a Night Elven outpost stood. Startled, she blinked stupidly at the Sentinels holding vigil outside the small building.

Only a moment's hesitation passed, and she unstealthed. Troll be damned, she was low on supplies. Her impatience made her bypass Ratchett, one of the few places in the Northern Barrens friendly to the Alliance, and now she was suffering for it. Shifting from her cat form, she boldly strode up to the first Sentinel she saw.

"I have need of rations," she haughtily informed the woman. "If you've any to spare, they would be appreciated. I am traveling to Moonglade."

The Sentinel arched a brow. "We are short of supplies and barely keeping our position here. If you have needs, see Duriel Moonfire inside the outpost."

Huffing her annoyance, Minara stomped up the ramp into the outpost building. At the back on a balcony overlooking the Falfarren River that ran behind the outpost, Duriel Moonfire stood conversing with one of her lieutenants. She only glanced up at Minara's entrance, then went back to her conversation.

"Excuse me," the Druid snapped. "I require assistance."

Moonfire slowly turned and glared at her. "You... _require_? Who _are_ you?"

Lifting her chin with superiority, she replied, "I am Minara Sunbriar. I have been summoned to Moonglade for training. My supplies are low; I would _appreciate_ anything you can spare."

"What is that to me?" Moonfire asked. "My scouts have reported a mustering for yet another assault on this outpost. We are likely to be attacked in minutes, and you want me to drop everything and fill your packs for you? Who do you think you are?"

"I _told_ you who I am," Minara snapped. "And I _expect_..."

A horn blew outside, and Duriel Moonfire brushed past the Druid. "To arms!" she called as she ran toward the threat. Glancing back, she snarled, "If you are of any use, Druid, help us!"

Affronted by the Sentinel Captain's insult, Minara shifted to bear form and charged across the floor toward the entrance. She skidded to a halt and was momentarily frozen when she beheld the chaotic battle in front of the building.

There were at least ten green-skinned Orcs engaging the Sentinels at close quarters. Minara was unaccustomed to battle and didn't know what to do or where to go. Stricken with indecision, she just stood unmoving on the steps.

The fight made her decision for her as an Orc slew his opponent and rushed at her. Minara tensed; the Orc was practically slavering with battle fury, a two-handed greatsword raised and ready to strike.

Minara forgot entirely that she was a bear. Turning around, she ran back into the building in a panic. All she could think about was the river beyond the balcony; if she could make the leap, she could shift to her aquatic form and escape. Heavy paws thundering across the wood floor, she focused entirely on the way out.

She was not as swift in bear form as she was when she took the shape of a cat. The Orc got within reach before she could get very far, and she roared in pain from the unfamiliar bite of a sword slashing across her haunches.

"Fight me, coward!" the Orc barked, laying open Minara's hind leg as she ran. Groaning, she gathered herself and hurtled over the rail.

She seemed to hover, suspended in the air for a few seconds, before crashing to the ground at least three yards from the banks of the river. Wincing and moaning, she staggered to her feet and limped the rest of the way. The water was cool and soothing to her damaged hide; Minara promptly shifted forms and submerged in the form of a seal.

Minara swam a fair distance, then shifted to her normal form and emerged from the river near a bridge. Gasping and shaking, she cast a healing spell to staunch her wounds.

Deep in the underbrush, she leaned against a tree and hugged her knees, trying not to cry. She bit her lip and tried not to indulge useless doubts about her abilities. She tried not to see, over and over again, the Sentinel falling to the ground and the Orc coming after _her_.

But she failed in all these things. Resting her forehead on her knees, she gave in to tears, only because there were none to see them.

* * *

As night fell on Ashenvale, two Druids sought shelter beneath the trees. One gathered fallen leaves and built a nest in the thickest part of the undergrowth for his safety and comfort. He ate a seasoned lion chop and drank moonberry juice. He breathed deeply the cool air and counted the stars overhead. He whispered the name _Suliya_ and grinned.

The other huddled no more than fifty yards away from the first, yet unknowing of his nearness. She started at every sound, though they were not unfamiliar. She ate nothing, for her rations were depleted. Her gold glowing eyes would not close regardless of how weary she was. She did not look at the stars and did not want to remember the fallen Sentinel.

The Horde strike force celebrated their victory that night, for they finally broke and scattered the defense of Silverwing Outpost. The dwindled stores were broken open and plundered. Casks of wine were drained. Haunches of meat were cooked and eaten.

Duriel Moonfire's head graced the table as a centerpiece for the Orcs' feast.


	3. Welcome Back, Cutter

The grey, overcast morning found Daznik loping easily along the road. Beyond the Ramparts and Silverwing, the Night Elf presence wasn't supposed to be significant. If he just remained alert, he could travel in the open, and maybe make up for the time lost while stealthed. He might also gain some ground his hidden 'friend' couldn't match.

It wasn't that he was anxious to see that bastard Goblin again. Far from it. Daznik wanted quit of this package with all speed. Anything given to Goblins likely wasn't good; anything _made_ by Goblins certainly wasn't. He knew that from personal experience, and he was still disgusted with himself for being involved.

Ignorance of Overlord Krom'gar's intentions didn't sooth Daznik's conscience in the least. 'I didn't know' wouldn't bring those young Druids back from the dead.

A snarl curling his lips, Daznik was too distracted by his thoughts to pick up the ursine scent before an arrow zipped past his ear. A startled growl erupted from him as he skidded to a halt. Instinct guided him now; he launched himself from a crouch into the bushes alongside the road and stealthed. In silence, he swiftly padded to a different location, anticipating that his attacker would first look where he'd landed.

Sure enough, a hunting party of four furbolgs waddled across the road from cover opposite where Roznik dove out of sight. They thrust their spears into the bushes he'd just left. Then they waded in, searching for him.

Cursing his carelessness, Daznik retreated further into the underbrush. If they discovered him, he'd be forced to defend himself. He hadn't wanted to draw blood on this journey; while not exactly a _sacred_ quest, it was still very important. Maybe Runetotem didn't specifically say it, but Daznik knew the choices he made would be scrutinized.

That his opinions of his own actions were likely harsher than any elder Druid's didn't occur to him.

Keeping the noisily rooting furbolgs in sight, Daznik continued to back away. His hind quarters bumped into a tree, and he carefully skirted it. Not carefully enough; a rear paw snapped a dry twig at the tree's base, the sound loud enough to be heard over the furbolg's clumsy searching.

Four bear-like heads shot up from the bushes ahead of him, and Daznik groaned. Now he was for it; furbolgs weren't friendly with much of anyone, Trolls least of all. Thinking quickly, Daznik switched to bear form and reared up on his hind legs, roaring at the top of his lungs and swiping the air with his heavy paws.

The effect was impressive and urged the startled furbolgs to retreat a few steps. Unfortunately, they recovered quickly. No matter how big and intimidating he was, Daznik was clearly alone and outnumbered. The furbolgs gave their own battle cry in answer, set their spears, and charged.

* * *

Smirking at the Troll, now set upon by those beastly furbolgs, Minara scaled a tree so she could watch the fight. She stretched out on the thick branch and peered down through the thick leaves, grinning as only a large cat can.

The noise they were making was worrisome, though, and she glanced up and down the road frequently to reassure herself that more enemies weren't approaching. Now that the presence of furbolgs had been confirmed, she became concerned about what _other_ horrors these woods held.

She was born and raised on Sardor Isle off the coast of Feralas, forced to move inland after the Cataclysm. Unlike many Night Elves her age, she hadn't seen much point in travel beyond the borders of her home region. She'd never even visited Darnassus before she became a Druid and was obliged to travel there for conferences and focus groups led by Malfurion Stormrage.

Each moment seemed to show her that what Ashenvale had lurking within its shadows was too much for her to overcome. Now was no different.

Yet in spite of being taken off guard, the Troll battled fiercely, his great bear paws knocking the furbolgs for yards. For several tense minutes, they simply picked themselves up and rushed back into the fray. Minara inched further along the branch, her eyes darting about as she tried to keep track of the action.

After awhile, she realized he was not flaying the furbolgs, though their weapons were certainly cutting open _his_ hide. He swatted them hard, but didn't tear flesh with his claws; he used his bulk to advantage, barrelling into them and knocking them off balance. Frowning, Minara wondered why he didn't do more damage. They were certainly not sparing _him_ injury, and were clearly intent on slaying him.

Was he _that_ inept? Snorting, she decided he was no match for her if he was unable to draw blood even on such inferior opponents.

Yet a few minutes later, she wasn't so sure. The furbolgs were laid out where he'd dropped them, clearly still alive but unconscious. Minara tensed; the Troll shifted to his normal form and bent over one of them. She was certain she'd now be forced to watch him eat the wretched thing alive; all knew Trolls and their appetites for the flesh of their enemies. She'd always assumed they fed on dead enemies; it came as a surprise to see him intending to feast upon a living one.

But he did nothing of the sort. Minara's feline face went slack and her jaw dropped as the Troll _healed_ the furbolg. It could be nothing else; she saw the familiar green glow of the _healing touch_ spell, unmistakably enveloping the furbolg. The Troll's shoulder and chest were bleeding freely, yet he ignored his own wounds to heal those of his enemy.

She couldn't fathom it, and was unable to move until well after he'd shifted back to his feline form and disappeared from view.

How could this be? Was he not a Troll? Was he not _Horde_? The charging Orc came swiftly to mind, and her heartbeat quickened in remembered panic. They were bloodthirsty savages, every last one of them.

Shaking herself, Minara edged down the trunk and dropped softly to the ground. What bothered her most about the Troll's actions was the mystery of them. She despised not knowing something almost as much as she hated being wrong.

Retaining her stealth, she trotted swiftly down the road. The way to Felwood, the unfortunate next step in the journey, was supposedly only a mile or so further. She would likely find him again on that northward road.

* * *

As the shadows began to lengthen, Daznik at last reached the relative safety of Silverwind Refuge. He grudgingly accepted that he'd have to stay the night; it was too late to continue on, and there wasn't anything on his map between here and the first Emerald Circle outpost just inside Felwood. Yet he approached the main building with dread.

 _Get in, get out_ , he told himself. _Don't get into a conversation with Flooz if you can help it._

In the end, he _couldn't_ help it. Flooz greeted him eagerly as he walked in.

"Hey, Cutter! Good to see you!" the Goblin engineer crowed as he walked up to Daznik. "Long time no see, huh?"

Scowling, Daznik dropped his pack with a thud and crouched down to root through it. He drew out the package and shoved it into Flooz's stomach, forcing him to grab it.

"Take yuh fuckin' package, Goblin," Daznik snarled through clenched teeth. "Dat be all duh bidness ah got wit'yuh."

"Oh, hey!" Flooz said, ignoring the Troll's tone. "All the way from Orgrimmar. I've been waitin' for this. Put a little 'oomph' in the next project we've got." Eying the fuming Troll, he went on, "Listen, you did us a good bit of work last year. Any chance you'd be interested in...?"

"Ah don' work foh no _Goblins_ ," Daznik snapped. "Don' do'em favors, neithuh. Not no more. Yuh wan' somet'in' done, yuh do it yuhself. Dat way, ah _knows_ yuh ain' gonna do nuttin' cause Goblins _don'_ do nuttin' 'less dey got some stupid chump tuh do it _for_ 'em."

Flooz narrowed his eyes dangerously and growled, "Stupid chumps like the occasional wet-behind-the-ears Druid, maybe?"

Bristling, Daznik curled his lip. " _Dis_ Druid ain' we' behin' no ears no more. Yuh bes' not cross'im. He ain' in duh best uh moods."

"Look, pal," Flooz snarled, poking Daznik in the stomach, "we're _all_ under Warchief's orders. You do what you have to do, I do what _I_ have to do. You got good pay for delivery. You want some more gold, you'd better..."

"Jus' like a Goblin," Daznik sneered. "Yuh on'y care 'bout duh pay. Yuh made yuh little bomb, den wipe yuh hands of it. Yuh got yuh money; nuttin' else matter."

"Oh, so we're all high and mighty now, are we?" Flooz snarled. "It's not _my_ fault what that nutcase did with it. _I_ didn't tell him what to drop it on. _I_ didn't ride in a fucking _balloon_ carrying it across Stonetalon like _some_ people. Seems to me since you rode that bomb all the way to Cliffwalker, you've got more blood on your hands than _I_ do."

Overcome with fury, Daznik lunged at the Goblin with a roar. Flooz was a good scrapper, but only against his own kind. The Troll was three times taller than him and all hard muscle. Maybe he didn't add to his strength by shifting forms, but he hardly needed to. Flooz breathed a sigh of relief when the painful barrage of fists was stopped; Captain Tarkan had stepped in.

"What the hell is this about?" the Orc roared. Two of his grunts held the seething Troll's arms while another helped a battered Flooz stand. "What're you doing back, Cutter?"

"Don' call me dat," Daznik snarled. He hated the name, even though the reason behind it was relatively benign. "Ah just bring'im some bit of nasteh shit from Mor'shan."

"He _hit_ me!" Flooz griped, daubing at his split lip with a handkerchief. Pointing at the Troll accusingly, he cried, "I didn't do _nothin_ ' and he _hit_ me!"

"Yuh made duh bomb dat murdered a hundred Druids, yuh fuckin' bastuhd!" Daznik bellowed, trying to yank his arms free so he could have at the Goblin again.

"Yeah, and _you_ brought it to the launch point," Flooz snapped. Daznik flinched. "Don't go pinning any of your guilt trip issues on me. That's _your_ shit to deal with." Shaking his head, he added, " _Night Elves_. Like anyone gives a fuck."

"Get on outta here, Flooz," Tarkan growled, dismissing the Goblin with a wave. Flooz spat blood and saliva on the floor and glared at the Troll, then turned on his heel and stomped out of the building.

Daznik closed his eyes, hanging his head in shame. Part of him hoped he'd find forgiveness in Moonglade, a chance to redeem himself for what he did. Another part was so afraid someone there would find out and tell his mother...

"Let'im go," Tarkan said quietly, and the grunts released Daznik. "Never seen you fly apart like that, Cutter."

"Dey was... dey was kids, Tarkan," the Troll Druid replied quietly. "Younguh den _me_. Didn' even know how tuh shift forms yet. Dey got blown into duh Nethuh... foh _what_?" He turned haunted eyes on the Orc captain. "Ain' nuttin' gained by dat. Not den, not aftuh. Nobody got nuttin' from it, 'cept 'lliance hate. Don' we got enough'uh dat already?"

"Some might say they've earned it," Tarkan replied evenly. He'd had these sorts of conversations with Cutter before. While entertaining at times, and often thought-provoking, he couldn't agree with everything the young Druid stood for. Yet they respected one another enough not to let their discussions get too heated.

"Ya, some'uh dem have," Daznik conceded. "Not all'uh dem, doh. Dey ain' all linin' up tuh kill duh Horde. Dere's some... some dat don' have a problem wit' us." A slight smile curved his mouth as he recalled Karie. He knew his brother; if Roznik lost his heart to a human, she must've given him reason to let it go.

As if reading his thoughts, Tarkan snorted. "I've heard there's a human living with your people on the Isles. You know anything about that?"

Daznik shrugged. "Uh little. On'y met'er once."

A slight blush colored the captain's cheeks and he lowered his voice. "I've heard... uh... she likes Orcs. Is that true?"

Narrowing his eyes, Daznik whispered, "Ah dunno, mon. T'ought she liked Trolls."

The Orc cleared his throat. "Doesn't matter. You staying the night?"

"Ya," Daznik replied, eying the captain suspiciously. "On mah way tuh Moonglade."

Nodding, Tarkan lightly punched the Troll's shoulder. "I'll get you settled. Cook'll be calling us to our final rest... uh, dinner, soon." Grinning, he led the way to the bunks.

* * *

Minara dreaded traveling in the unfamiliar forest at night, and so was grateful for the lights shining from the tower ahead. This time, she approached warily, though. There was the sound of battle not far away.

On a hill overlooking a crossroads stood a tall stone tower. Minara no longer had a map; somewhere along the way, she'd carelessly left it behind at one of her campsites. If this was the northward road she vaguely remembered, it should take her straight to Moonglade eventually. But just now, the sunlight barely able to pierce the canopy had faded almost to nothing, and it was getting more difficult to see. Once in sight of the sentinels guarding the sloping path up from the road, Minara unstealthed and trotted up to the tower entrance.

A sentinel at the front regarded the approaching Druid with a touch of impatience and hostility until Minara finally got the hint and shifted forms. The guard relaxed.

"Looking for shelter for the night?" she asked.

"Yes," Minara nodded. "And... something to eat, if anything is available."

"Precious little to spare for travellers, under normal circumstances," the sentinel informed her. "Elune must be watching over you today; a traveling merchant has also stopped in. You'll find him inside. He may be able to sell you something."

Inclining her head briefly, Minara entered the tower. The ground floor was mostly taken up by a shallow moonwell, but up the ramp were barracks with narrow beds. Several of them were occupied. Minara laid claim to one and sat down with a relieved sigh.

"Hard road?" a Night Elf man asked. He was lying on the bunk next to hers, his hands behind his head.

"Rather," Minara replied wearily. "Are you a merchant, by chance?"

The man chuckled. "No. You'll want to speak with Wonx over there." He gestured at a Gnome fussing with his bed linens. "Better let him smooth the corners first. He's been interrupted twice and stripped the sheets off to start over from the top." Chuckling, he added, "Unless you just want to mess with him, then by all means..."

"No, I'll wait," Minara said. Grimacing slightly, she examined her own linens, checking for signs of vermin. Who knew what the previous occupant of this bed was?

"Listen to that," the Night Elf sighed wistfully. Frowning, Minara did as he asked

"All I hear are the sounds of battle," she shrugged, going back to scrutinizing the sheets. "Is that what you mean?"

"Naturally," he murmured. "The death cry of an Orc; it never gets old. I shall sleep well tonight." Turning his head so he could look at her, he asked, "What is your name?"

"Minara," she replied slowly. The tone and expression on the man's face was somehow chilling, regardless that she agreed with him. "And you are?"

"Meng," he replied simply. "I'm called merciless, for some reason." He shrugged disinterestedly. "One shows mercy to those who deserve it. Orcs don't."

"They show us none," she said cautiously, unable to think of anything more clever. His voice was devoid of feeling; neither anger nor remorse. It was rather unsettling.

"Mercy is a quality possessed by civilized races," Meng agreed. "Not by beasts."

Minara nodded politely, hoping the conversation was at an end. It wasn't that she disagreed with him; his voice left a chill in the pit of her stomach.

"I have fought the Horde here for many years," Meng continued as though speaking to himself. "When they first came to fell the trees. They called themselves 'Warsong.'" He chuckled, but there was no warmth in his humor. " _Our_ warsong was heard that day, far louder than theirs."

"You slew them?" she asked.

"Every last one," he nodded. "Yet they kept coming. Always the next day, there were more. They breed like rabbits, rutting indescriminately. There are _always_ more. It became quite a sport, cutting the throats of their laborers in mid-chop, spilling their intestines before they hit the ground." A ghastly grin split the man's face as he remembered. "I became quite accomplished at ensuring they saw their own breakfast before they died."

Minara swiftly covered her mouth with her hand and winced as her gorge rose. Meng glanced over and smiled sympathetically.

"Listen to me, telling boring war stories to a young girl," he chuckled coldly. "But it is a lesson you should hold dear."

"What... what lesson is that?" Minara asked, her voice hoarse with nausea.

"Strike the workers hardest," he replied. "Some might say, cut the head and the body dies, but that isn't the answer. I have always believed that cutting the legs from under the beast weakens it, making it easier to kill."

"Has this worked?" she asked. "Has the Horde been weakened by your efforts?" She already knew the answer to that; if anything, the Orc presence in Ashenvale had increased, according to the warnings she'd been given before she left home.

Meng smirked and shook his head. "Of course not. As I said, they are vile things that reproduce with the mindless abandon of beasts. Where one falls, another rises."

"I'm sorry, but I fail to see the point...," Minara began, and Meng chuckled.

"There _is_ no point, other than this," he replied. "Have you ever killed an Orc, Minara? Have you ever felt the beat of its heart, the shudder of its body as it expired? Have you ever looked in the eyes of those beasts and watched as the light fades?" He closed his eyes and smiled. "It is a good feeling. Very satisfying."

Opening his eyes again, he regarded her stunned face. "I make the Horde bleed, Minara. I make them pay dearly for every tree they harm, for every Night Elf that falls to their blades." Sitting up, he reached down and lifted a heavy leather sack from the floor. "In the end, _this_ is all that matters," he said, and opened the sack to show her the contents.

The color drained from Minara's face. Inside the bag were ears. Sharply pointed, green ears. Some bore gold rings, others were notched and ragged. The acrid stench of preservative wafted from the collection. Horrified, she looked away.

Meng smirked as he closed the bag. "I've a colleague who collects Troll tusks. Those savages would rather die than lose the monstrous things. It's quite amusing to him, leaving them alive and tuskless. Shamed and virtually emasculated. Their humiliation is his prize; I would just kill them. The jungle Troll skin is covered in fur, did you know?" He patted a small blue pouch at his hip. "Very soft."

Sickened, Minara hugged her middle and wished this man would stop talking.

"I've a mind to acquire horns from a Tauren one day," Meng continued thoughtfully. "I might have to call on my friend, though. It won't be easy taking down a large enough side of meat to make it worthwhile."

"I believe Wonx has finished his preparations," Minara said hastily, rising on shaky legs. "I'll just see if he has anything for sale."

"As you wish," Meng shrugged and settled back on his bed. "Give him my regards, won't you?"

"Of course," she muttered, and dashed across the room to the Gnome, though she'd completely lost her appetite.


	4. You Scratch My Back...

After a disturbed sleep, Minara rose with the dawn and prepared her things for departure. The Night Elf, Meng was already gone. She breathed a sigh of relief that she would not need to converse with him any further. Many of the things he said were revolting, even in reference to those barbarians in the Horde. As much as her parents despised 'lesser' races, they'd never spoken of hunting them for trophies. Though she hadn't traveled much, she'd never known her own people to harbor such cruelty. Her thoughts went to what Malfurion Stormrage would think of such a thing, and was startled that she even wondered.

Shaking herself, she secured her pack, now laden with a few days' rations. Wonx had been strange and his voice annoyingly high-pitched, but he'd been far more friendly and less disturbing than Meng. More importantly, he had some dry rations he was willing to sell her for a reasonable amount.

As she was descending the ramp to the ground floor, she began hearing shouts outside. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of sentinel scythes whistling through the air.

Minara didn't need to see what was happening to know the tower was under attack. Her stomach clenched in fear, and in her mind she saw that Orc coming for her once more. She shifted to cat form and stealthed, then slowly edged toward the doorway, hoping the fight hadn't reached the steps, and she would be able to sneak out.

For a while, luck seemed to be with her. The Orcs were engaged with the sentinels and seemed content to focus on taking the tower as brutally as possible. Minara slipped around the perimeter behind the structure and began carefully picking her way down the hill to the northward road.

Her luck, however, did not hold. Two hulking figures suddenly melted out of the underbrush and leaped upon her. Concentration broken, she lost her stealth and fought them desperately. How could they have seen her? In the struggle, the Night Elf felt secure metal cuffs clamped on her front paws, then a strange weariness engulfed her. All the fight left Minara, and she shifted to her normal form. She tried to shift again, but it was no use. The cuffs dampened her abilities and rendered her magically impotent.

Now she looked at her captors and cringed; they were Orcs, their monstrous green faces sweaty from exertion. They spoke in their guttural, beastly language, as if conferring on what to do with her. Minara's eyes darted from one to the other, afraid of what they might decide.

One turned to glare at her and snarled around his enormous tusks. A terrified whimper escaped her, and the other one chuckled. The first Orc shot his amused fellow a hostile look, then reached down and grabbed Minara by the hair. He hauled her to her feet and the two of them marched her down the road.

She didn't have to ask where they were taking her.

* * *

Stretching luxuriously on the bunk, Daznik slowly let himself come awake. Camping in the wilds was good, but sleeping in a bed was better. Every chance he got to indulge himself, he'd take advantage of it.

He was startled to see Captain Tarkan striding purposefully down the row of bunks. Daznik glanced around; he was the only one still lazy enough to be in bed, so the captain must be coming to see him. Rising, the Troll stretched his back and yawned.

"Hey Cutter," Tarkan barked, "don't bother packing up. I got a favor to ask you."

"Sure," Daznik nodded. "Whatchou want?"

"Couple of my boys brought in a Druid skulking around Raynewood," the Orc informed him. "Lousiest sneak they've ever seen. Thought about following her for awhile just to see what else she can't do, but she was heading up north, so they jumped her."

"Druid?" Daznik asked with interest. "An' she ain' good at sneakin'?" Chuckling, he shook his head. "Dere been a Druid like dat on mah tail foh'uh few days."

"Yeah, well, looks like we found her," Tarkan nodded, leading Daznik to the front of the building. "Problem is, nobody here speaks Common. I know _you_ do, so how's about you talk to her? Let her know what's what."

Daznik nodded. "Be glad tuh. So... why'd dey bring'er in, den? Jus' let'er go."

The Orc snorted. "I sent some troops up to the tower to soften things up a bit. The damn retreat seems to be Captain Thagg's obsession of the week, and he told me the sentinels are chewing on his ass. Anyway, this little bit of noise isn't a sentinel; she's just at the wrong place at the wrong time. She's heading blind into a battlefield. Best just to hold her here for a little while until things die down."

"So yuh ain' gonna let _me_ head ou' yet eithuh, eh?"

Tarkan shook his head. "No. Not until I get the all clear."

Daznik nodded. "Aw righ'. Where she at?"

"Over here," the Captain replied, gesturing to a tent guarded by several grunts. "Damn near pissing herself. I'm not saying she won't manage it when _you_ walk in, but at least you're both Druids. Maybe that'll calm her down."

"Ah hope so," Daznik sighed.

"Hey," Tarkan said in a low voice, gripping Daznik's elbow to stop him. "Put the fear of Hellscream in her, will you? So she knows not to come around this area again? She's as good as dead if she keeps wandering around like she doesn't know where the hell she is." Glancing at the tent, he added, "You'll see what I mean. I don't think she's been a Druid for long. Either that, or she's just about the worst one alive."

Daznik nodded. Typically, Druids didn't concern themselves with the political disagreements between the factions, but their work often brought them into war zones. While Night Elf Druids passing through Ashenvale from the south were rare, it wasn't unheard of. Obviously Tarkan had seen his share, and forbade any attempt to hinder them.

Another reason to respect the captain, Daznik mused. Nodding to the grunts at the tent entrance, the Troll ducked inside.

It took him a moment to adjust to the gloom. Huddled in a far corner sat the Night Elf, dampening cuffs on her wrists, her arms around her knees. She stared at him with wide, luminous eyes. Her dark blue hair was mussed and unruly from her capture. She was trembling from head to toe.

"Hey, now," Daznik said softly, squatting down just inside the tent and keeping a respectful distance. It looked like his job was already done; the Elf got a pretty good dose of Hellscream's wrath on the way here. A bruise was turning her light lavender cheek a dark purple. Daznik frowned with disapproval at that. "Don' be scared. It gonna be aw righ'."

She blinked slowly with surprise. When she mustered the ability to speak, her voice was shaky and terrified. "Let me go."

Tarkan be damned, Daznik wasn't about to make this worse. "Dey be lettin' yuh go soon. Duh figh' at Raynewood gonna go on a bi', den he let us bot' go. Yuh goin' tuh Moonglade?"

"I'm... they're not...," she whimpered uncertainly. Daznik smiled gently.

"Nah, ain' nobody gonna hur' yuh," he reassured her. "Duh Horde don' murder folks."

Her mouth twitched and her brow furrowed. "That's not what I've always been told."

Shrugging, the Troll replied, "Mebbe yuh be tol' wrong?" Yet he couldn't hide his own frown. "Dere be some in duh Horde... ya. But dere be some in d'Alliance, too. Duh Warchief don' hold wit' it, doh. He duh voice'uh duh Horde." Grinning, he added, "Ah t'ink mebbe yuh king don' like it neithuh, ya?"

"No," she snapped, agitated by this soft-spoken Troll. His manner flew in the face of everything she'd been told of his race and made her terribly uncomfortable.

"So," he continued conversationally, "yuh di'n' ans'uh mah question. Yuh goin' tuh Moonglade?"

"What business is that of yours?" Minara said haughtily. Daznik arched his brow.

"Ain' mah bizness," he shrugged. "Jus' t'inkin'... if we goin' tuh duh same place, migh' as well go tuhgedduh. Yuh know dis fores'?"

"I can manage quite well on my own," she said.

Daznik appraised her for a moment. Tarkan was right; she had a manner about her of being in over her head and desperate to hide that fact. She wouldn't last the rest of the way out of Ashenvale, much less get far in the blighted forests of Felwood.

He hated lying, but if telling a little one kept the Elf alive, was it really all that bad?

"Ah don' t'ink yuh got much choice," he said grimly. "Duh Captain say yuh ain' goin' no where wit'out uh guard. So yuh wanna get t'rough tuh Felwood, pas' duh Horde, yuh gonna have tuh go wit' me." Forcing himself to grin, he added, "Ah take care'uh yuh."

A revolted look crossed her face and she looked away. Frowning, Daznik narrowed his eyes. "What dat s'pose'tuh mean?"

"If I leave here with _you_ ," she hissed, "how long will it be before you finish what your Orc friends started?"

Sighing, Daznik nodded. "Yuh got no reason tuh trus'. Ah know. Mebbe we bot' Druids, but yuh t'ink we on opposite sides udduhwise. Duh way ah see it, ah'm on duh side uh nature. Ah see what war has done, and it make meh weep. Ah feel duh pain, and ah wanna heal it. What side'uh _you_ on, eh?"

"I...," she said uncertainly, and shut her mouth. She couldn't very well claim opposition to _that._ How would that make her look? "I suppose... you have a point," she replied evasively.

Grinning with approval, he said, "Ah be called Daznik. Wha's yuh name?"

She hadn't wanted to get too familiar with him, but it would likely make things easier to know names. At least it would spare her being called other less flattering things.

"Minara," she told him. "Now could you take these cuffs off?"

"Ah'd like tuh, but it be duh Captain's decision," Daznik shrugged. "Ah talk to'im foh yuh." Standing, he ducked out of the tent and went in search of the Orc.

Minara let out a long breath and sagged. She hadn't realized how tense being in the tent with that Troll would make her. Did he know she'd been following him over the past few days? What would he do if he knew?

Likely kill and eat her, she assumed, and glanced fearfully at the tent entrance.

Gnawing her lip, she wondered if what he said was true, that the Orcs would release her. The chance that he _wasn't_ lying seemed frighteningly slim.

What were they but mindless savages? Hadn't her father fought against Trolls for hundreds of years? Savages and deceitful liars, all of them. Foul of tongue and foul of thought. And here she was being put at the mercy of one.

Was this penance from Elune, then? Had her negligence of the goddess while miming the ways of the priesthood finally come back to haunt her? Minara suddenly felt as though the weighty parental glare of the angry goddess had just focused upon her, and she shrunk against the tent wall.

* * *

"Still think you should keep a muzzle on her," Tarkan pointed out as Roznik resupplied with the quartermaster. "You said she's been following you; any idea why?"

Daznik shrugged. "Didn' ask. Don' need tuh. Ah know why she done it."

Tarkan waited a moment for the Troll to continue, then finally sighed impatiently, "All right, why?"

Grinning, Daznik replied, "Cause she wanna kill meh."

"I see," the Captain replied. "Makes perfect sense, you offering her help and guidance with that hanging over your head." He nodded. "Yeah. I think I'd do the same." Then his bemused look was replaced with exasperation. "Cutter, you've lost your damn mind. Why the hell would you join up with someone out for your blood? Is this some kind of Druid thing?"

"Nah, mon," Daznik said, waving dismissively. "Look at it dis way: she need meh. Dere be dange'uh all duh way tuh Moonglade. She can' sneak past none'uh it. Ah help'er, an' mebbe she return duh favuh, ya? Mebbe dere be 'lliance 'tween here and dere she can help wit'."

"Son, you're an idiot."

"Ah be _charmin_ '," Daznik smiled, waggling his eyebrows. "She won' resis' muh ways."

Tarkan gave him a sidelong look. "You're not thinking..."

Daznik snorted and rolled his eyes. "Nah, mon. All ah wan' is tuh keep'er from t'inkin' ah be wort' killin'. Ah can do dat wit' mah eyes close'. She uh Druid, bu' she ain' a good one. Mebbe ah help'er dere, too. Befo' she make it tuh Moonglade and everybody know it."

Eyeing the Captain curiously, he gestured to the bulging pack the Orc was carrying. "Whose dat be, eh?"

Huffing sullenly, Tarkan growled, "Hers. My boys took it off her when they brought her in. Thought I might... you know... put some stuff... She didn't have much. How the hell she expects to get to Felwood without... And no damn _map_ , either. If she's going all the way to Moonglade, how did she think she'd make it without...?"

Daznik chuckled and patted the Captain's shoulder. "You uh good dad, Tark."

"Shut up," Tarkan grumbled.

* * *

Minara stared into her pack at the wrapped packages, blinking uncomprehendingly. Among the Horde-labeled rations were two skins of water and a med kit. There was even a neatly rolled map inside. She gave a bewildered look to the Orc Captain who just handed it over.

"He didn' have tuh do dat," Daznik pointed out quietly. "Didn' wanna send yuh from his base wantin' fuh nuttin'."

"But... he's... and I'm...," Minara stammered, too shocked by the Orc's unexpected generosity to finish the thought. Daznik shrugged.

"He got kids he ain' seen in mont's," the Troll explained. "Mebbe yuh be a hunn'uhd years old, but yuh look like yuh could be 'is chile. So..." Gesturing to the pack, Daz grinned. "Bettuh t'ank'im and we go, befo' he knit yuh a sweatuh."

She didn't know how to deal with this entirely unexpected view of Orcs. Meng's words about them being little better than beasts with regards to... family matters seemed in direct opposition to the Troll's description of the Orc as a concerned father. Just the fact that she was held in Orc custody for the better part of a day without being molested in any way was _also_ outside the realm of her understanding. Add to that a _Troll_ in their midst, and making it an hour without being raped and eaten must amount to an unprecedented event.

Muttering her automatic thanks, she listened to the Troll translate to the Orc and watched their expressions. The Orc seemed genuinely embarrassed to be receiving thanks, and waved him off.

"Aw right, we go now," Daznik told her with an amused chuckle, gesturing up the path leading to the main road. "Don' shif' til we get dere, doh."

Falling into step beside the Troll, whose gait seemed to roll like an ocean wave, she asked, "Why not? Would it offend them?"

"Nah, mon," he replied. "It jus' ain' polite. Mah mata alway say, 'don' hide wha' yuh ah to uh frien',' so ah don'."

Sniffing haughtily, she lifted her chin. "We are not friends, Troll. This... arrangement is for convenience only." She glared at him and he just shrugged. Scowling, she added, "And I'm _not_ a hundred years old."

"Ah know dat, mon," Daznik chuckled. "Yuh look moh like fohty uh fifty. Mus' be tuh be doin' yuh trainin' in Moonglade."

"I'm not...," Minara began, then pressed her limps firmly. She had to remind herself yet again that he couldn't be trusted. Obviously his manner was meant to catch her off guard. The sooner she was rid of him, the better.

But could she prevail on her own? Her best recollection of the route indicated that Felwood had several Emerald Circle posts along the main road. The Emerald Circle was a branch of the Cenarion Circle, and would be more than happy to provide her a safe rest on her journey. Once she reached the first one, she decided, she would shake loose of this Troll.

The road was deserted. Minara and Daznik both shifted to cat form and headed east toward the crossroads below Raynewood Tower. True to the Orc Captain's word, the fighting had moved away from the road, and the two Druids were able to travel at full speed past the Retreat without being spotted by either side of the conflict. Minara breathed a sigh of relief.

The various shapeshifting forms provided a plethora of special abilities to a Druid, but robbed him of one thing: speech. Their muzzles and beaks were poorly equipped to form words, so communication was only managed in their natural forms. This shortcoming suited Minara well; she was almost as disturbed by the Troll's benign, superficially non-threatening conversation as she had been by Meng's vile descriptions. Almost.

At least Meng was clearly a dangerous sort with a sick mind. The Troll, by virtue of _being_ a Troll, was assuredly worse, but was apparently far more skilled at hiding it.

They kept a steady pace with brief rests, but night came well before they reached the border with Felwood. Roznik angled off the road and used his feline senses to scout out a safe campsite. The Night Elf hesitated before following, and he wondered if she still sought his death.

 _Better make myself worth keeping around_ , he reminded himself, and shifted. He busied himself preparing a firepit, gathering large stones to form the ring and ensuring no grass or undergrowth was near enough to catch. Leaving Minara in the camp, he ranged out a short distance and picked up dry, dead branches, collecting enough to make a decent little fire and keep it burning all night. All the while he arranged the wood and nurtured the sparks into a flame, he could feel the Night Elf's glowing eyes on his back, watching his every move.

"Yuh know," he commented quietly without turning around, "it no' be polite tuh stare."

Narrowing her eyes, Minara said coldly, "I'm not staring. I've better things to look at than _you_ , I assure you."

"Mah mata say," he went on as if she hadn't said a thing, "yuh look at somet'in' long enough, it don' seem so bad." Smirking over his shoulder at the indignant Night Elf, he added, "Yuh keep lookin' at mah backside like'at, yuh gonna fall in love wit'it."

Minara's jaw fell open for a moment before she could rally. "How _dare_ you?" she hissed. It was all she could muster, and turned away from him entirely.

Chuckling, Daznik offered, "It be aw right if yuh don' hate meh in duh mornin', Minara. Ah won' hol' it against yuh."

She shot him another thoroughly offended look which only seemed to amuse him more. "I promise you, _Troll_ , I will hate you... _twice_ as much by morning," she hissed.

"Well, ah guess dat's _somet'in'_ ," he replied good-naturedly as he unrolled a sleeping pallet. "Do yuhself a favuh, doh. Listen to duh land."

Startled, Minara stared at him. "What do you mean by that?"

Daznik settled himself on the pallet and shifted around a bit seeking a comfortable lie. "Ah mean, feel duh pulse, hear duh heartbeat. Ashenvale be livin' and breathin'. Mebbe duh Horde be hurtin' it, and it cryin' out sometimes, but mostly it be a comfortable land." Closing his eyes, he wrapped a long arm around his head and settled in.

For the first time, likely because she hadn't wanted to look too closely at the Troll before now, Minara noticed his tusks bore many carved symbols. His long pink braids also sported trinkets clearly carved from bone. She now recalled hearing them clink together as he walked.

"What... what should I be... listening for?" she found herself asking.

"We gonna hear a land cryin' foh help when we cross intuh Felwood," he murmured softly. "Open yuh ears now tuh what a land sound like when it ain' corrupted. Den when yuh hear Felwood, yuh _know_ it."

Minara looked away. She was loathe to admit it, especially to him, but she couldn't hear a thing beyond the crackling of their campfire. She didn't even know how to _listen_.

 _Don't be stupid_ , she scolded herself. _He's trying to lower your defenses. Don't believe a word of what he says._

Taking a blanket from her pack, she wrapped herself up and remained awake for several hours before sheer exhaustion claimed her.


End file.
